Fatherhood
by peteynorth
Summary: A re-writing of Jason's 'death' and return to make it more palatable than the Superboy punch, as well as putting a timeline on events involving the Bat family.


I hate the way that comics have made resurrections commonplace, to the point where Soap Opera viewers laugh at the ridiculousness of it. It's not a religious thing with me, it's just that I view it as a half-assed cheat; which quite frankly it is. I can accept what they did with Superman in the early 90's, because he technically wasn't dead. But this thing with Jason Todd is weak, and the manner in which they did it makes it infinitely weaker. A punch to reality by some alternate dimension Superman? Really???? That's what they came up with? I'd almost rather they took a Crisis approach and rewrote canon; which is the direction I went here. Enjoy.

Fatherhood

Part 1:

August 4, 1996

The Batmobile sped into the cave and ground to a halt in front of the vast array of computer banks, the Batman leaping from it the moment the cockpit opened enough to allow him to do so. He walked up beside his manservant and surrogate father, Alfred, who was intently watching a twelve year old boy throw himself through an elevated obstacle course on the far side of the cave. Both men observed the exhausted but determined child leaping from raised post to raised post, avoiding the randomly timed snares and projectiles coming at him. "This is one of my most advanced settings. How long has he been at this?"

"Almost three hours, Sir," Alfred answered "since you left to attend to the matter of the dead scientist. How is that progressing, might I ask?"

"It appears that he may have implicated Ras Al Ghul with his dying act, though there's room for other possibilities." Batman replied. "Dick doesn't seem to be taking his forced retirement too well. He's pushing himself harder than he did when preparing to be Robin."

"Perhaps he feels that you will change your mind?" Alfred suggested. "Though I believe this is a way of punishing himself for failing to save the District Attorney."

"There was nothing he could have done." Batman replied, feeling pain at how his ward was throwing himself into this now unnecessary training with such reckless abandon. "Harvey stacked the deck too far against him. It wasn't his fault."

"I know that Sir, just as you know that, but I fear Master Richard is not quite as charitable in estimating his own performance." The Englishman replied.

"Then I'll have to make sure he reevaluates himself." Bruce replied, admiring the fluid airborne movements of the child. "He's a tremendous athlete. Actually, he's a tremendous human being in every way; courageous, honorable, brilliant, kind, fair and eternally optimistic."

"The apple fell quite far from the tree with regards to that last trait." Alfred quipped.

A look of confusion came over Bruce's masked face. "Did Dick say that his father was a pessimist?"

"Actually Sir, I was referring to the tree which he currently finds himself under." Alfred replied.

"I concede I'm by no means an optimist, but I don't think I've had enough influence on the lad to be considered his 'tree'." The Batman responded. "If anything, he's been the one to influence me."

"No question that he has brought about many positive changes in you Sir, but it seems that Master Richard is not the only one to be uncharitable in his self-estimation." Alfred countered. "You've had a great deal of influence on him, and have been instrumental in helping him deal with the death of his parents. I only wish I had done half the job of that with you."

"Now who's being uncharitable to himself?" Bruce smirked. "I wish I could point to any advice or consolation I gave the boy as something that helped him in the healing process, but quite frankly, it was being Robin and protecting the innocent from criminals that was the real therapy. I'm glad for the help that it gave him, but I can't let it continue. He's just a boy for pity's sake." The man paused for several moments before voicing the thought going through his head. "He's my boy."

Bruce seemed surprised by his own vocalization, and turned to see Alfred with a subdued but clearly genuine smile on his face, the older man's head nodding ever so slightly. "Yes sir, he is."

The billionaire pondered something before continuing. "I've feared being unable to fill the shoes of John Grayson, both in fact and in Dick's eyes. And to be honest, I probably can't, I'm well aware of my shortcomings as a father figure. While he's devoted to me as a teacher and partner, and even has genuine feelings of affection for me, perhaps even love, he'll never hold me in the same regard as he does John. But that doesn't change the fact that when I look at that boy I see my son. I'll leave the decision to him, but it is way past time to take the next step."

"I couldn't agree with you more, Sir." Alfred concurred.

Bruce nodded and marched toward a nearby console, lifting a phone to his ear and punching in a phone number on the pad on the console. He adopted his playboy facade as the ringing started.

"Hello?"

"Hello Lucius, how are you doing?" Bruce asked.

"Oh, good evening Bruce. I'm good. To what do I owe the pleasure of your call?" Lucius asked.

"I was calling to let you know that I'll be going out of town tomorrow on a personal matter, and I'll likely be gone for several weeks." Bruce explained.

"No problem, I'm sure we'll be able to manage without you for a little while." The CEO replied.

"I have no doubt about that my friend." Bruce chuckled. "I've also got a request for you."

"Name it."

"This is a pretty sensitive matter, one which I'd like you to be discreet with."

"Understood. What is the favor?" Lucius asked.

"I was wondering if you could get with Legal tomorrow and draw up adoption papers for Dick." Bruce requested as he watched the boy across the cave still exerting himself to the maximum on the elevated obstacle course.

"Really?" Lucius replied, unable to hide his surprise. "Well that is excellent news Bruce. He's a great kid, I was going to adopt him myself if you pulled that ward garbage for much longer. You couldn't ask for a better son."

"No, no I couldn't." Bruce agreed. "But let's keep this under wraps for the time being. I've yet to discuss it with Dick and likely won't until I get back."

"Will do Bruce." Lucius replied warmly.

"Thanks Lucius, I'll give you a call when I return home. Good night." Bruce hung up the phone as he watched a weighted female mannequin tumble from a perch up ahead of Dick on the course, prompting the boy to throw himself forward, grip the grappling gun strapped to the belt around his sweatpants, aim and fire off a hook, swinging in just in time to catch the mannequin.

He landed on another perch, placing the mannequin safely on it, but was then plastered by a half-dozen paintball rounds fired at him from a machine in the shadows. "Damn it Grayson!" The boy bellowed at himself.

"That's enough!" Batman called out as he walked toward the course.

Dick turned and a look of shame came over him as he caught sight of the two men watching him. "Oh, hey. Sorry."

"Come here Dick." Batman requested as he pulled off his mask.

The boy, drenched in sweat and wobbly from exertion, dropped down toward the floor, gripping the occasional object to slow his descent, and once on the ground made his way to his guardian and former partner. "Hey Bruce, I know I can't wear the suit, but I thought it was OK to use the equipment."

"It is, though I'd like you to take it a little easier on yourself." Bruce answered. "Scenario eighteen X is one I've barely passed."

"I know, but it's a predominantly aerial setting, and that's my element. I should be able to do this with ease." The twelve year old explained.

"There's a lot more involved in this training exercise than swinging from mount to mount." Bruce led Dick to a chair and sat down next to him. "Plus, it looked as though you were going at it up there with a death wish."

Dick pulled at his sweatshirt, emphasizing the various paintball splats on it. "Looks like I got my wish."

Bruce chuckled. "I suppose so." He peered into the boys' hurt eyes. "Look Dick, you have to know this situation was impossible. The fact that you operated as Robin for over a year without getting killed is a miracle."

"Really? Because I thought I was pretty darn good at it." Dick answered. "Well, I guess after what happened..."

"You were amazing, regardless of what happened with Harvey. But you are still a child." Bruce interrupted. "And this is no world for a child."

"I know I screwed up bad with Harvey." Dick conceded. "I'll train much harder, especially in the martial arts. You'll see marked improvement right away, I promise. No one will ever get the better of me again!"

"Dick, you're nothing short of a prodigy at every aspect of your training, especially your combat training, but the fact is that you're pre-pubescent." Bruce reasoned. "You are a child, and only several years of maturity will change that. You may become the most capable crime fighter on the planet, but until you're a grown man it just isn't right to put you in such danger."

"Right? Bruce, do you need me to recite the names of the people whose lives I've saved? People who'd be rotting in the ground were I not out there doing what we do?" Dick argued. "Yeah, I came up short for the D.A., but if I wasn't there Harvey would probably have killed you both. I have a lot of room for improvement, but I am making a difference. And if I save even one life, then whatever price I pay will have been worth it."

"I disagree, Dick." Bruce replied, rising to his feet. "The fact is, were anything to happen to you, the price would be paid by a great many of us. The price that I would have to pay would be more than I could handle."

"What, going to jail for endangering a minor?" Dick asked, not catching Bruce's true meaning. "We've got contingency plans in place in case something were to happen to me. There's a good chance they could find my body wrapped in my Robin costume and still be unable to pin being Batman on you."

"I'm not referring to that." Bruce replied. "Believe me, prison would be the least of my concerns were something to happen to you." The older vigilante shook his head and sat back down. "Look Dick, there's something that I need to discuss with you, but unfortunately it's something best saved for when I get back."

"Where are you going?" Dick asked, disappointed that wherever it was, he would not be joining.

"To track down Ras. I have reason to believe that he's somehow involved in the murder I investigated earlier." Bruce explained. "I may be gone for some time, so just carry on without me, and we'll talk when I get back. But under no circumstances is Robin to take flight, do you understand?"

"Yes sir." Dick agreed.

---

September 20, 1996

Bruce Wayne walked into his ancestral home, worn physically, mentally and most significantly, emotionally. He'd been gone six weeks; by some measure a blink of an eye, but in another an entire lifetime. Qayin had stolen it all from him. For the first time in twenty years Bruce had found contentment. The thought of living a life not ruled by vengeance, or not dedicated to a quest for justice no longer seemed absurd. He'd live a normal life, bring Talia here to the manor, and raise their children. 'All our children' Bruce thought as he lifted a picture of Dick and studied it closely. He would have made an incredible older brother. He was already an incredible son.

No, not yet. He wasn't his son until the paperwork was signed. And even getting to that point was contingent upon Dick being willing to be the son of Bruce Wayne, a man who couldn't even keep a monster from killing his biological child months before his or her birth; a man who, despite being the pinnacle in human achievement in numerous areas, couldn't hold a candle to John Grayson in terms of parental ability. A man who abandoned the boy he wanted to make his son for roughly a month and a half. These shortcomings that Bruce was listing in his head was merely a mask for what was really troubling him about becoming a father. For the brief period Talia was pregnant, Bruce had overcome many of these shortcomings, but The Batman had lost a great deal of his effectiveness. He had been paralyzed by fear for his family; a fear almost as potent as one brought on by one of Crane's toxins. And unlike with Scarecrow's poisons, Bruce's formidable mind could not rationalize its way to thinking of this fear as false. He could never dismiss the terror of harm coming to his children as anything but genuine, and so the crippling terror, though perhaps manageable, would persist. Another price that was too high for Bruce to pay.

A realization caused him to snuff the last bit of light that was keeping the darkness at bay, and he marched into his study, sat down at his desk and flipped the phone handset to his ear. A quick series of finger movements was immediately followed by the sound of ringing on the other end of the phone line.

"Hello?" The confused voice came through.

"Lucius, it's great to hear your voice." Bruce cheerfully addressed his corporate right arm and friend.

"Welcome back Bruce. I hope you enjoyed your time away." Lucius cheerfully replied.

"I did." Bruce lied. "But it's good to be home. I need to talk to you about that matter I asked you to handle while I was gone."

"It's all taken care of." Lucius replied, genuine happiness in his voice. "All we need are signatures from you and Dick."

"Yes, well, thank you for your effort, but let's hold off on that for now." Bruce replied sadly.

"Why is that, Bruce?" A stunned Lucius asked.

"I'll...I'll explain later." Bruce muttered. It was true enough; he just hadn't come up with the explanation he'd use yet. "I'll give you a call tomorrow. Good night." Bruce hung up and leaned back in his chair. He almost wished Qayin was still alive so that Bruce could beat on him for the remainder of his life. He had intercepted Qayin's attempt to kill Ras, kicking the terrorist in such a way so that he would land clear of the live wires he was wielding as a weapon, but the monster was so intent on killing al Ghul that he lunged mid-air for the wires and wound up killing himself with them. Bruce peered out the window and visualized Dick, a few years older than he was now, running around on the grass with his toddler brother or sister. Several moments passed before he heard the soft footfalls of someone trained to be silent, but who wasn't currently trying to be.

Dick turned the corner and walked into the room, but halted at seeing Bruce. It had only been six weeks, but the boy seemed older, more mature. "You're back."

Bruce nodded. "How have things been here?"

Dick continued staring at his guardian. "Fine. How'd things go with Ras?"

Bruce pursed his lips and shook his head in an indecipherable manner. "Resolved for the time being."

"OK, good to hear." Dick replied, keeping his anger beneath the surface. "Well then, I'll give you some privacy."

"Thanks, but I'm not really looking for any privacy." Bruce answered. "Are you heading down to the cave?"

Dick shook his head. "Not this time. Just wanted to talk to Mom and Dad." The boy nodded to the portrait of his parents on the wall, one made using one of the few photos that were recent at the time of their deaths and that didn't include Dick.

"I see." Bruce said getting up. "That's good, family is very important." He turned and looked at the smiling face of the male acrobat pictured on his wall, as well as catching the brief look of devotion that had come over the boy's face as he looked upon it briefly. As painful as it was, Bruce realized that he had made the correct decision in calling Lucius. Dick would always be John's son.

Dick looked at Bruce and shook his head. "No, you don't have to leave. I can talk to them any time. You just got back; I'd like to talk to you if you're up to it."

"Absolutely." Bruce replied, sitting back down and watching as Dick took the chair on the other side of his desk. "So, what have you been up to the last month and a half?"

Dick shrugged. "School, training, not much else." The boy muttered, but a sliver of a smile flashed across his face. "I'm pretty sure I figured out who Jack the Ripper was."

"Oh?" Bruce asked, amused. "And the verdict is..."

"Aaron Kosminski." Dick replied. "His background, as best as it can be pieced together, appears to mesh well with the profile of a sexual killer. Residential instability, apparent absence of a biological father, older sisters who may or may not have been seen by him as mother figures, and he spent several of his formative years in the Pale, undoubtedly witnessing beatings, rapes and murders occurring in the pogroms of 1881, perhaps even to his immediate friends and family. Perhaps even to himself." The boy leaned back and then continued. "He apparently had trouble finding or keeping work, and he lived within a general circle of the murders, the first occurring closest to his presumed residence. Let's see, Inspector McNaughton referred to Kosminski as having a great hatred of women and strong homicidal tendencies, he was certified as having aural hallucinations, was accused of having attacked his sister with a knife, and was the only individual to have had an eyewitness claim to have seen him committing a crime attributed to the Ripper."

"The witness recanted." Bruce baited.

"He didn't recant; he just refused to testify against a fellow Jew." Dick replied.

"You think loyalty to a fellow 'Chosen' would keep him from turning in a vicious butcher of women?" Bruce asked.

Dick raised his eyebrows. "Take it from a Gypsy kid, the 'us against them' mentality is taken very seriously in certain cultures. And believe me, a nineteenth century immigrant forced to live in squalor because it's infinitely better than where he emigrated from has little in common with the Jews you and I are friends with."

"Point taken." Bruce smiled. "For what it's worth I'm fairly certain that you're right. An interesting way to spend your free time."

"Well it's not like I'm allowed to solve any contemporary crimes." Dick mumbled.

Bruce quietly pondered something for several moments before replying. "Well, maybe we can change that." He smiled as he noted the boy jerk his head up and peer at him with hope-filled eyes. "We're going to start out slow. I don't want you tossed up against the likes of Two-Face or the Joker, but I definitely could use someone watching my back, and the fact is that my relieving you had nothing to do with any short-coming on your part, but my own fear," Bruce looked down momentarily "a fear that I've started to figure out how to bypass."

Part 2: A Wolf in Clown's Clothing

March 16, 2004

"Hey Boss, we got company." The large African called out to the blood spattered Joker as the mass murderer stood over the battered child, blood dripping from the loosely held crowbar to create a slowing but still rapid rhythm of impacts against the wooden floor.

The Joker looked up at the hired thug, one of two he picked up in Mogadishu and had escorted him into Ethiopia a few days before. His face bore a look of combined excitement and concern as he responded to the man. "He can't possibly be back yet."

"No, looks like a couple of aid workers." The man replied as he peered at the approaching pair through the window. The other henchman, another African of impressive height and bulk, walked to his comrade's side and looked through the window as well, quickly exchanging a questioning look with his friend. These were hard men, men who had the blood of many on their hands, but even they were unnerved by the gleeful manner in which the American criminal had battered the foolishly garbed child. Not as unnerved as the blond woman in the corner of the room, who seemed almost at the point of tears by what had just transpired.

At hearing of the approach of aid workers, the woman seemed to come out of her stupor and approached a different window to view the approaching pair, a short, dark haired man in his early twenties and a mid-sized blond woman. "Colin Mathesson and Linda Calvers. A couple of idealists that ditched the Peace Corp to do what they could here."

"Peace Corp doesn't see any need for its services here in Ethiopia?" The Joker asked with only mild interest.

The woman, Sheila Haywood, glanced at him but immediately turned away as she caught sight of her son's blood streaked across the criminal's face. "The Corp got out of Ethiopia four years ago due to the border war with Eritrea."

"Well, we'll have to reward these idealists appropriately." Joker chuckled back at the woman before turning to the two large men at the other window and tossing the crowbar toward them. One man reacted quickly enough to catch it. "Kill them both. No witnesses."

Sheila stepped toward the center of the room just as the door opened and the workers came in, both smiling as they saw Sheila. "Dr. Haywood, we didn't expect to see you here." The woman announced, initially oblivious to her male counterpart's sudden halt at the sight of the large men approaching them, but at hearing the car keys that he had been twirling around his finger hit the floor she quickly turned to see their soon-to-be attackers as well. She turned back to the familiar woman, a questioning look on her face. "Sheila?"

"I'm sorry Linda." Sheila replied before once again turning to avoid watching the savage attack. Unlike with the Joker's assault of her son, this was not a game to these men. There was no joy, no laughing, and no toying with the victims; just savage and efficient blows designed to obliterate the human body. Colin attempted to fight, but at five foot five inches he was a nearly a foot shorter than the smaller of the two attackers, and though he had a lean, muscular physique, he was nowhere near a match for the larger, armed, and vastly more dangerous man. In a matter of seconds his broken body was a crumbled pile on the floor, blood draining from the orifices of his shattered skull. Linda was held in place by the unarmed thug until the act of killing her coworker was completed, and then she was pushed forward and into the swinging crowbar. A few seconds more and she was just as dead as Colin.

"Well done gentlemen." The Joker grinned at the corpses. "Abdi...?"

"Abdikarim." The crowbar-wielding man corrected.

"Whatever." Joker disregarded the man's name. "Just get some gasoline and douse the bodies." He then looked to the other man. "Ghedi, is it?" The other man nodded. "Please secure Dr. Haywood to that chair there."

"What?" Sheila gasped as Ghedi approached and grabbed her. "I don't understand."

The Joker displayed a look of confusion and gave a slight shrug. "No witnesses. What's so hard to understand?"

"But...but...but" Sheila stammered as she was shoved into a sitting position in a wooden chair and smacked across the face. She was stunned for just a couple of seconds, enough time for Ghedi to grab some rope and return to her. "Joker, please! I did everything you wanted!"

"Yes my dear, you did." The Joker replied, a tone of empathy in his voice that seemed almost genuine. "And now I want you to die. You wouldn't want to disappoint me now, not after you've pleased me thus far, would you?"

---

'What kind of monster steals from starving people and replaces their life-sustaining food with a poison? Of course, the only answer that's appropriate is the correct one; the Joker.' The Batman mused as he sped his helicopter toward the convoy that was unsuspectingly carrying enough of Joker's poisonous gas to kill hundreds, if not thousands. Such an act would easily put him past Bin Laden's body count; as it was they seemed to be neck and neck in terms of total body count, but the Joker conducted all but a tiny few of his murders personally, thus giving him the edge in terms of being a bigger monster. If Batman failed to stop these trucks, any debate would be ended. Oddly enough, this train of thought was less disturbing to the Dark Knight than those dealing with his impetuous adopted son and the slim chance of him obeying the order to stay away from the Joker and his new-found mother.

Batman pushed thoughts of Jason away and refocused on the task at hand. Fortunately his mini-copter was cutting the distance between himself and the convoy rapidly. Unfortunately the convoy had noticed him and had assumed he was attempting to hijack their cargo. A mini-copter was definitely not a standard feature in the typical northeastern African warlord's arsenal, but these groups seemed to be getting better armed with each passing day. Batman heard an unfriendly 'ping' and verified that a lucky shot severed the fuel line. The vehicle was built for easy and stealthy transport, not durability, and because of that it would fail to make the return trip. "Damn!" The vigilante cursed and he directed the helicopter to crash near, but not too near, the convoy. He then set the self destruct sequence and leapt from the copter as it zipped over the trucks, landing close to but not on one of the armed guards. He prayed he could subdue the resistance, explain the situation, commandeer a truck and return before Jason ran out of patience.

---

Tears streaked down Sheila Haywood's face as the sounds of Joker's Range Rover grew increasingly distant. "I played you straight, Joker." She muttered dejectedly. She pulled her eyes away from the bomb's digital timer counting down and scanned the room, one soaked in blood and gasoline, most of which was pooled around her and the three dead bodies. A groan let her know that there were really only two dead bodies in the room. She looked toward her son, a son that had seemed to successfully re-write his genetic leanings and find his way to the side of the angels. A crime fighter; a hero, someone to be proud of; someone she had led to his likely death. Someone who might actually be able to save them! "Jason! Over here!"

The boy raised his battered head and managed to see her through the mass of bruises around his eyes. "Mmmmmmm...Mom?"

"Yes Sweetie. Please, deactivate the bomb!" She screamed at him as calmly as she could.

Jason followed her line of sight and saw the bomb ticking away in the center of the room. He got to his hands and knees and started to move toward it, but fell flat on his face. "Nnnnn...not in condition to do that." He looked toward her. "Need to get out."

Tears continued to stream down Sheila's face as she came to a decision and forced herself to perform the first maternal act she had done since expelling Jason from her body nearly fifteen years ago. "Jason, get out. Get out while you still can."

"Nnno. Not leaving you, Mom." The battered teen muttered as he finally got to his feet and made his way to her.

"Jason, get out!" Sheila screamed. Jason continued toward her, finally reached her, got behind her and started manipulating the knot binding her wrists together. He pulled out a blade from his utility belt and began sawing through the rope. "Jason, do as I say and get out!"

Chuckling came out the boy's swollen mouth. "Waa...wouldn't be here now if I took orders."

The blade cut through the rope and Sheila brought her hands around to the front of her. "Give me the knife Jason, I'll get my ankles. You get out now!" She twisted and snatched the blade from his grasp, turning back and working on the rope binding her legs. She finally cut through and stood, turning to grab her son and make her way toward the door, giving one glance toward the timer on the bomb. They had eleven seconds to get out, which should be enough time. She reached the door and twisted the knob, only to discover that they were locked in. "No! It's locked."

"Mmm...move Mom." Jason muttered as he pulled away from his mother, took a step away from the door, and pulled something out of his belt. Sheila did as she was told, and watched as her son hurled a small orb at the door knob, creating an explosion that blasted away the knob, lock, and a chunk of wood. Sheila grabbed Jason and charged forward through the door, getting through and turning the corner just as the bomb inside exploded.

---

"No!" Batman roared as he heard the blast and saw the smoke in the distance several miles out. He pushed the borrowed truck to its limit, but he was still several minutes away, several minutes where his son could be gasping his last breaths. No, Jason was still alive, Bruce forced himself to think. He was a tough kid, he'd endured so much already and he could handle this as well. These thoughts repeated themselves through Batman's head as he made his way to the flaming warehouse. They lost much of their insistence as he saw what remained of the building. They quieted further as the stench of burnt flesh hit his nostrils. They were little more than a whisper upon catching site of the charred remains of a woman, though noting what appeared to be sifted and disturbed wreckage raised his hopes of a survivor. Those hopes ceased entirely as he soon came across the remains of a male, one charred beyond recognition but one that was Jason's size. The still burning Robin costume clinging to him removed the last lingering shards of hope. Batman dropped to his knees, raised the charred corpse to his chest, and grieved for his son.

---

Sheila watched through Colin's binoculars as Batman unknowingly clutched her former coworker to his chest. She put the binoculars down, not certain whether or not she'd made the right decision, but justified it by telling herself that they could always contact Bruce Wayne if they decided to; an opportunity to completely vanish and be thought dead, however, would never be presented again. And with an enemy like the Joker, falling off the grid made perfect sense. She peered over at her unconscious son in the passenger seat, clothed only in his underwear and bandages that she had wrapped around his head and ribs. Some of those bandages were also wrapped around her hand, over the likely permanent mark in her palm shaped like one of Colin's keys that had burnt into her flesh as she grabbed it from the burning floor, a necessary injury to get away from the scene before Batman returned. She put the truck into drive and continued down the road. She had socked away enough of her embezzled money to get she and Jason started on their new life.

---

March 23, 2004

Alfred looked himself over one last time in the mirror. Were it not for the redness in his eyes, there would be no indication that there was anything amiss. He had girded himself all morning to make the phone call that Bruce had neglected to make for far too long, and upon hanging up had begun counting down the seconds to the expected entrance. From south Manhattan to Wayne Manor it typically took an hour and a half. Thirty-seven minutes and forty-three seconds after finishing that call, Alfred was now hearing the lock of the front door being disengaged and the door being thrown open. Alfred stepped out of the hall bathroom and started toward the foyer, coming face to face three seconds later with Bruce's former ward. "Hello Master Richard, and a belated happy birthday to you."

"Where is he?" The normally polite and good natured young man barked at the closest thing he had ever had to a grandfather.

"Master Bruce has thrown himself into his work, and I do not mean his duties to Wayne Enterprises." Alfred replied.

Dick nodded and started marching toward the study that housed the main entrance to the subterranean cave, but stopped as he got to Alfred and looked at the butler, placing his hand on the man's shoulder. "I'm sorry Alfred. How are you holding up?"

The Englishman smiled and patted the young man's hand. "As well as can be expected young sir, as well as can be expected." He gave Dick's hand a gentle squeeze. "Do go easy on him, Richard. This has been extremely difficult for him."

Dick shut his eyes tight. "I know Alfred, but I have been going easy on him. To not tell me about this..." Dick shook his head. "I'm sorry, this was the last straw." With that Dick removed his hand from Alfred's shoulder and continued his march to the study.

-

"Condi, how are you?" Bruce's face gave no sign of the mirth his voice was displaying. "That's good to hear. Me, I'm as good as can be." The billionaire listened as the person on the other end continued with the conversation. "Oh, I don't know when I'll be able to swing by Washington again, but whenever it is I promise you that I'll make time for lunch." Bruce went silent again as the woman continued on. "Now come on Condi, you know my policy of straddling the fence. My father once told me party loyalty was for sheep, and it's something I've never forgotten. But I'm sure you can get plenty of celebrities to show up at your functions and tout the party." A feigned laugh came out after the other party responded. "Sorry, I just can't help you there. And now that I've refused to do you this favor, I feel kind of awkward asking for one. I was wondering what it would take to get a seat in tomorrow's United Nations session, and figured who better to ask than you. Always start at the top, right?" Bruce paused and then faked another chuckle. "Yes, I know this isn't like floor seats to a Lakers game, but I still think you can get me in." Bruce nodded. "Of course, make any calls you need to and let me know. You have my number, right? Great. Thanks Condi." Bruce leaned forward and hung the phone up. The cave was silent, but he had been aware of the person standing several feet behind him, boring a pair of holes into the back of his head with a heated stare. Bruce silently conceded that any and all animosity was well deserved, but there was a reason behind his actions. "Hello Dick."

"Turn around." The normally warm voice was ice. Bruce swiveled the chair around and looked up at his former ward, student and partner, saying nothing, only meeting the younger man's stare. "Stand up."

Bruce remained seated, but finally spoke. "I don't want this, and neither do you."

"Stand up."

"Dick, this isn't going to happen." Bruce tried to calm the man down.

"Stand up!" Dick roared at his former mentor, his voice echoing throughout the caverns.

Bruce closed his eyes, sighed and nodded. He rose to a standing position and peered down at Dick. "Alright, do what you need to do."

Dick reared back to throw a punch, but held it as he noticed no attempt to defend himself coming from Bruce. "Get your hands up!"

"No." Bruce replied. "If taking a poke at me helps you deal with this, then get it done. Just hurry up."

"Screw you, Bruce!" Dick growled, allowing his hand to fall to his side. "You arrogant bastard! It didn't occur to you that I should know that Jason had died? That maybe I'd have some respects to pay at his funeral? I realize that it wouldn't be an easy call to make, but since when have you wilted away from what's not easy?"

Bruce didn't have time for this, he had preparations to make and less than twenty-four hours to get them completed. There was really only one way to get Dick out of his face, but it would likely keep Dick away for the rest of his life. It was an option that nearly induced a wave of nausea in Bruce, it was so loathsome. But like with firing him from being Robin on both occasions, he considered it a necessity, a way of keeping him safe by pushing him away. All it would take would be one sentence, one very difficult sentence, but as Dick said, when had he wilted away from what wasn't easy? "Quite frankly Dick, it wasn't any of your business."

Bruce watched stone-faced as Dick's eyes widened to their fullest, a look of absolute shock and horror etched on the young man's handsome features. After a moment Dick's eyes lowered to the ground and he took a step back as he struggled to accept the reality of what Bruce had just said. He then turned and started to the stairs, but stopped as he took the first step and twisted to face Bruce one last time. Both his face and his voice hard, but otherwise devoid of emotion. "Alright Bruce, message received. I will never darken your doorstep again."

Bruce sat back down and stared into the dark depths of the cavern, listening to the sounds of Dick's departing footsteps. It was necessary, Bruce kept thinking to himself. Now more than ever, it was necessary. Taking Robin from him didn't force Dick into a civilian life, neither had his dismissive comments and actions nor his failure to acknowledge the young man's abilities and accomplishments as Nightwing. Perhaps now, with this combination of Jason's death and the possibility of Bruce accepting him as an equal dashed, Dick might be prompted to give up the life of a vigilante. No, not vigilante; Bruce was a vigilante, Dick was a hero. Just a few days into his twenty-first year he was generally regarded as the most effective team leader of any group of capes, and as loved by their peers as Bruce was disliked. But as good as he was, he was still just a man. One bullet, one blade, one fall; any of these as well as countless other possibilities could end his life, and that was a possibility that Bruce just could not accept. A possibility that Bruce had ignored for years, but was forced to deal with head on two years ago as he witnessed the Joker's bullet puncturing his son's torso.

Bruce shook his head sadly. The first time his internal monologue had subconsciously referred to Dick as his son had sent a shock through him. That had been when Dick was twelve, and while it had come as a shock to Bruce, it was not nearly as surprising as the realization that his feelings for the boy did not change at all even after the brief but joyous period that Talia was carrying his own flesh and blood child. One of the most painful aspects of the miscarriage was in knowing what a brilliant older brother Dick would be for the baby that would now never be born.

Yes, Bruce had come to acknowledge to himself that he fully considered Dick to be his son. His failure to act further on the matter had nothing to do with their lack of genetic ties, no, it was that while Bruce saw Dick as his son, he would never be seen by the boy as his father. Many of his acquaintances, as well as the press, had assumed that his immediate adoption of Jason versus Dick's status as legal ward meant that his affection for Jason significantly outweighed his affection for Dick. This was not the case. As callous as it sounded, it couldn't be further from the truth. The decision to keep Dick his ward while making Jason his son had nothing to do with having more love for Jason than Dick; it had to do with having more respect for John Grayson than for Willis Todd. Dick had made it clear from day one that John would never be replaced. That he grew to love Bruce was clear, but Bruce would never be John.

Bruce could never be Dick's father, but that didn't change his view of Dick as his son. And a man's most important duty was to protect his children. Thomas Wayne had been sure to position himself between Bruce and the gunman that awful night twenty eight years ago, but it took watching a lump of lead fired by a monster that he had been refusing to kill for years cutting Dick down to force Bruce to do what was necessary to protect him. He had come close to failing Dick twice, and had fully failed his biological child and now Jason as well. He would not fail again. He would continue to do what he could to make Nightwing seem unnecessary, and eventually Dick would live a normal life devoid of monsters like the Joker.

The Joker. Bruce's eyes hardened. The man had planted this wedge between him and Dick. He had crippled Barbara. He had confirmed kills in the hundreds and suspected kills over two thousand. And he had killed Jason. He would offer the monster one last chance at redemption, but if refused, and Bruce knew that it would be refused, it would all end tomorrow, vows be damned.

---

Part 3: Growing Flock

September 9, 2004

"So here's the deal." Dick smiled at the two beautiful women seated across from him in his apartment living room. "I need a new uniform. As much fun as it's been to fly around in a tweaked version of Dad's old circus costume, I've come to accept that the design just isn't very practical for crime fighting."

"Well, it is a throwback to the seventies, what with that collar and all," Donna Troy smiled first at Dick and then to his live-in girlfriend Kory, "but damn if you don't have THE best chest for that deep v-neck."

"I agree with Donna." The alien princess added. "If you were to put that outfit on one million people, it would look terrible on nine hundred thousand, nine hundred ninety nine. But on you..." Kory gave a very seductive smile.

"I'm not entirely sure what he meant by it, but Roy once said that seeing your chest popping out of that outfit made women slide off their chairs." Donna muttered, and at seeing Dick cover his face and chuckle, finally understood the comment's meaning. "Oh gods, how gross. What did I ever see in that pig?"

Dick finished chuckling. "Well thanks ladies, but that collar has obscured my vision on more than one occasion, and that v-neck offers no protection whatsoever to my chest, a part of my body that houses some things that are critical to me remaining alive."

"Well, I can't argue with that, it really isn't a practical design," Donna conceded "but when have you ever been practical with your work attire?"

Dick rolled his eyes. "Jeez, I figured not having Roy here would ensure I could go a few hours without any short pants comments."

"Sorry Dick, but come on." Donna chuckled as Kory smiled amusedly. "Ridiculous outfits and bad puns are your thing, even more so than acrobatic ability and detective skills."

Dick leaned forward. "Well then, let's change that, shall we?" He grinned at each of them. "The ridiculous outfit part of it anyway. The bad puns are just a little too ingrained."

"You do realize that we are not designers?" Kory asked, knowing that Dick knew quite well.

"I know, but you're both in the fashion world in different capacities, and can throw something together better than I could." Dick replied.

"Well, if you're going for practicality, you'll probably want to go as dark as possible." Donna suggested.

"Well..." Dick displayed a mischievous grin "I do want it to be dark for the most part, but I also want to stand out; some bright parts, maybe yellow or something."

The two women looked at each other, both uncertain of the suggestion. "You can take the boy out of the circus, but you can't take the circus out of the boy." Kory joked.

A knock at the door stopped any further discussion on the matter. "Let me go see who that is." Dick got off his couch and walked to the door. He opened it to see a dark-haired boy about thirteen years of age holding a large manila envelope. "Hello."

"Hi Dick." The boy nervously muttered.

A look of confusion came over Dick's face. "Do we know each other?"

"No...well yeah." The boy stammered. "We've met, but I doubt you'd remember."

Dick arched an eyebrow. "When did we meet?"

The boy glanced past Dick and pointed to a framed picture hanging on the wall of the hallway just inside the door. "Um, then."

Dick turned and looked at the last photograph of his parents ever taken. They were behind him, each with a hand on his shoulder, while he was down on one knee. Sitting on his raised knee was a four year old boy whose parents had taken to see the show. The child was staring up at the eleven year old acrobat with awe in his eyes. Dick turned back around and looked into those same eyes, now nine years older. "Tim?"

"You remember?" Tim smiled.

"It was a memorable day." Dick replied, still a little stunned.

"Oh...right." The boy seemed apologetic for bringing up painful memories.

"Jeez, come in. Please. I can't tell you how much I appreciate your parents sending me a copy of this picture. It's one of my most treasured possessions." Dick escorted the boy into the living room, relieved to see that the ladies had retreated to one of the bedrooms. Neither wore masks when doing their hero work, and Kory was clearly an alien and would require more explaining than Dick cared to do right now. "Wow, it's great seeing you. How have you been?"

The boy was squirming a little, still nervous about something. "Alright I guess."

"So what brings about this visit?" Dick asked, a broad and genuine smile on his face.

Tim handed over the envelope, which Dick opened and pulled out the contents, a series of photographs, photographs of Batman in action, brutal action. Some depicting him fighting the second assassin to take up the Ravager identity, others of him brutalizing other criminals, and all showing him worn and battered. Dick's initial surprise paled in comparison to what he was feeling now. "You need to return to Gotham. You need to return to being Robin."

---

November 24, 2004

Bruce cut into his slice of turkey and carved out a bite-sized chunk. While not included on the list of foods for his idealized diet, this was a piece of white meat and there was no gravy or stuffing on his plate, just an assortment of steamed vegetables. Alfred had been dining with him, but had left a few moments before to answer the door. It had to be someone Bruce was familiar with to have gotten past the gate, but the fact that they hadn't come right in through the door let him know that it wasn't Dick or Tim. Well, maybe Dick. While willing to put their differences aside to aid in Tim's training, he still harbored a great deal of animosity and hurt toward Bruce, and he was still a long way from feeling comfortable in the manor again. His promise never to return was one he held fast to until Bruce was forced to formally request that Dick break. Bruce had hoped that fences would eventually be mended, though it was looking like that was still a long way off.

He chided himself for the sadness brought on by that realization. He heard the approaching footsteps and had little difficulty identifying the steps mixed in with Alfred's. They belonged to Leslie, and going by their speed and intensity, she was mad. 'Great, what now?' Bruce turned and offered the woman a smile as she entered the room. "Hello Leslie, happy Thanksgiving. Please pull up a chair, Alfred, as always, has made much more than enough."

"I'm not here to break bread with you Bruce." Leslie snapped. "Dick called to wish me a happy Thanksgiving, and over the course of the conversation he let it slip that I should be familiarizing myself with a new set of medical records."

Bruce groaned and prepared himself for the verbal beating. "I suppose I should have told you soo..."

"Stop, just stop!" Leslie ordered. "I thought that the silver lining to Jason's passing was that you would finally realize the insanity of including children in your crusade, but obviously I was wrong! Maybe being turned in to the authorities and spending a few years in prison will knock some sense into you?"

"If you feel that's necessary, but before you call Jim Gordon and remove the plausible deniability that I'm sure he's been leaning on for years, know that it wasn't my crusade that got Jason killed, it was his." Bruce calmly replied.

Leslie was taken aback. "How dare you? Your son was killed while in the Robin costume, by your greatest enemy I might add, and you're going to tell me it had nothing to do with your war on crime?"

"No, not nothing, but he wasn't at that place at that time to fight crime." Bruce responded. "He was in Ethiopia searching for his mother." Bruce noted the look of surprise on Leslie's face. "Yes, Jason had come across his birth certificate, and while heavily water damaged, he was able to clearly make out that his birth mother's name was not Catherine, but a name that started with an 'S'. We tracked the woman, a doctor, down to an aid camp there. Unfortunately, and unbeknownst to us, she had a shady past and apparently previous ties to the Joker, likely from a time before becoming the Joker. He was in that part of the world and desperate for a quick score of cash, so he had looked her up. He had stolen large quantities of food and supplies to sell off, leaving crates of his gas to be delivered to the starving Ethiopians. I had to stop the caravan with the poison, and ordered Jason to stand down until I returned." Bruce sighed sadly. "But you know...knew Jason." He glanced down at his plate, but then back up at the doctor. "And since you did know him, you know very well that he wouldn't have been able to sit back while his mother was being strong-armed or even threatened by the most dangerous man on the planet. He'd have charged in, whether in his Robin suit, a gorilla suit or his birthday suit, and you know that."

"Just as you knew that when you left him there alone." Leslie snapped back.

"I couldn't take him with me in the copter, and I couldn't let that gas get to the refugee camp." Bruce leaned back dejectedly. "I'm haunted by that decision every day, but the fact is that if faced with it again, I'd do the same thing. I'd have to."

Leslie peered intently at Bruce, but the animosity that she had just a moment before was ebbing. She closed her eyes and shook her head, opened them and leaned forward to snatch a string bean from Bruce's plate. "Damn it Bruce, how is it that you can make the most dangerous absurdity seem almost rational?"

"Years of practice." Bruce muttered.

"I'm not sold. Jason's situation being unrelated to his being a vigilante is not nearly as clear as with Barbara." Leslie asserted. "And really, it doesn't matter. Even if that case can be made, it doesn't lessen the danger this new child will have to face."

"That's why I am training him as rigorously as I have been." Bruce replied. "Plus I know I made a mistake with Jason. He lacked Dick's temperament, his patience and level headedness. Tim doesn't. And while Dick and I have numerous outstanding issues between us, one thing that we now both agree on completely is our mutual cooperation in Tim's training."

"You rushed in with Jason to replace Dick. I just hope you're not rushing in with this Tim to bring Dick back to you." Leslie posed.

"I don't think that's the case here, but it is a motivation that I will scan for in my subconscious." Bruce answered.

Leslie nodded as she finally sat down. "Alfred seemed unable or unwilling to divulge many of the details regarding Jason's death last spring, but he did mention that there was a woman to have been buried with him. I take it that was his mother?"

"Yes." Bruce answered. "Dr. Sheila Haywood; murdered by the Joker as well." Bruce stared at his plate of cooling food for a few moments before the absolute silence prompted him to look at his guest. He was startled to see a look of shock on Leslie's face. "Leslie, what is it?"

"Did you say Sheila Haywood?" Leslie asked for clarification.

"Yes. Why, did you know her?"

"She was one of my residents, back before I switched to the clinic full time." Leslie explained. "It must have been, what, nineteen ninety three, about the time you first started this insanity of yours. Smart girl, a good doctor, but she definitely had a dark streak. And I could tell that she'd had a tough upbringing." Another look of realization came over the woman's face. "Oh my God, I actually remember her talking about a child she had had during college, one that she had to give up." She looked at Bruce questioningly. "Was Jason adopted by the Todd's?"

"I'm pretty sure that Willis was his biological father. He barely acknowledged his own son, I really don't see him actively seeking one he didn't have the pleasure of conceiving." Bruce answered.

"Wow, it's all coming back to me now." Leslie smiled. "We had a long heart to heart one night during one of the few slow evening shifts. Did you know that Jason was born via C-section?"

Bruce shook his head, eager to learn all he could about his dead son. Suddenly he froze and looked at Leslie with extreme intensity, a look he normally never gave unless he was wearing a cowl. "He couldn't have been."

Leslie was startled by Bruce's contradiction. "Well I wasn't the doctor that delivered him, but I remember quite vividly now her telling me that there were complications that required the child to be delivered via Caesarian. Why do you have a problem accepting this?" Leslie watched as Bruce's eyes grew wide. "Bruce, what is it?"

Bruce leaned back in his chair as his mind was overwhelmed by dozens of competing thoughts. "It was by no means thorough, but I did conduct an examination on the bodies, including a pelvic of Sheila. They'd obviously been murdered, but I was checking for other crimes to justify what I was intent on doing to the Joker. In this case I was looking for sexual assault. Fortunately I found no signs of rape, but I also found no indication of a Caesarian delivery."

"The bodies were burned, perhaps..."

"No, her lower torso was for the most part intact." Bruce answered. "If she'd had a scar there, I'd have seen it."

Leslie turned and peered out the window as she too tried to fathom what was going on. "What does this mean?"

---

November 27, 2004

The teenaged boy carried the garbage can out of the garage and hauled it effortlessly down the driveway in the dark of night. He was clearly an excellent athlete, though he was walking with a mild but noticeable limp in his right leg. Bruce winced as he stood in the shadows at the realization of the boy's injury, but smirked as he noted the Goliath's baseball cap twisted with the bill in the back of the boy's head. In this northern suburb of Chicago he would chap many a diehard Cub fan with that hat, which was no doubt the intent. The fifteen year old placed the can at the end of the driveway and turned back toward the garage. At his fifth step he halted. His breathing stopped and he tuned his senses as well as he could, suddenly turning toward the large tree in the neighbor's yard. The boy closed his eyes and swallowed hard. "I told her you'd find us."

"Why?" Though he was dressed in his civilian attire, the voice was that of Batman.

"It was Mom's idea." Jason answered. "Our one shot at a normal life."

"I wouldn't have stood in your way. You didn't need me to mourn a dead son for eight months." Bruce replied.

"I'm sorry. I was going to contact you once we got settled. Then one night I was telling Mom about the...adventures I'd had as...you know." The teen explained. "The subject turned to our enemies, and I made the mistake of bringing up Hugo Strange."

Bruce stepped out of the shadows and nodded his understanding. "I see."

"I'm sorry Bruce." Jason said, his head down. "But I did this for you as well. The Joker knows he left Sheila Haywood and Robin in that building to die, and were she to pop up alive and raising a dark-haired teenager with a limp from a head injury, one who just so happened to be the adopted son of a Gothamite with the resources, physical stature and motivation to be Batman, he'd put two and two together."

"As if thinking Robin dead and then noting an obit for the adopted son of a Gothamite with the resources, physical stature and motivation to be the Batman didn't get his calculator going." Bruce replied. "Besides, the Joker frequently gets five when putting two and two together. Plus, in all likelihood, the Joker's dead."

Jason shrugged. "You had a body to bury with me, and yet here I am. You don't even have that much with the Joker, so Mom's not willing to assume he's dead. And even beyond that, I wasn't even really awake until after my funeral. It was weeks before I was really thinking clearly. This new life was pretty much in full swing before I really knew what was going on." The boy smiled nervously. "So how was it, anyway? My funeral that is."

"I kept it as low key as possible." Bruce replied, almost apologetically. "I used my influence with the press to keep the story of your passing suppressed for the most part. I know you deserved more, but I had to keep your death as ripple-free as possible." The formerly grieving father turned away. "I'm sorry, it was cold and callous, but it's the way it needs to be."

Jason merely nodded. "No, it's OK, I understand." The boy then shuffled nervously. "So, the Joker; missing and presumed dead, huh? What really happened?"

"From what I can tell, Ayatollah Khamenei was growing tired of President Khatami's attempts at liberalization and conciliation with the West, so he arranged to have the post of Iran's Ambassador to the U.N. offered to the Joker in what appeared to be Khatami's name, hoping to remove some of his popularity. The Joker went on a rampage in the UN that ended with nearly two dozen dead diplomats, him going down in a flaming copter into the Hudson with a gunshot wound to the upper torso, and Khatami has thus far gotten the blame. Chances are he'll lose next year's election, I just hope he isn't replaced by some hardliner." Bruce shrugged. "As for the Joker's final whereabouts, no body found, presumed dead, but with all we've seen, such a presumption is something we can not afford to make."

Jason nodded. "The gunshot wound...?"

"No." Bruce quietly replied. "I set out that day to end his existence, but when it came down to it, I couldn't bring myself to kill him. The bullet was a stray shot from one of his bodyguards."

Jason looked hurt, but finally nodded. "That's probably for the best. I know how important it is that your hands remain blood free."

Bruce considered justifying his unwillingness to take the Joker's life, but decided it wasn't worth the effort. "So what now?"

"Now?" Jason looked up at Bruce. "Now I ask you to go on with your life as though I really were dead. I ask you to keep my being alive to yourself. That means don't tell Alfred or Dick. And I ask that you not try and find me again."

"You're going to move again?" Bruce asked.

"Yeah, as long as you know where we are, there's a chance your enemies might be able to find us." Jason explained. "But if you promise not to look for us again, then we can move and our whereabouts won't be in your head for any of your enemies to pick out."

"Is this what you really want?" Bruce asked, quashing a feeling of hurt.

"I'm sorry, but it's the way it needs to be."

"Alright son, so be it." Bruce replied. "But if you ever need anything, anything at all, don't hesitate to contact me."

Jason nodded, and then headed back up the driveway. Bruce turned and walked a couple of blocks to the parked rental car. He got inside, wondering if he'd ever see his son again.

---

December 4, 2004

Tim Drake flung himself off of the rocky ledge and allowed his body to fall for a few seconds before reaching for the grapnel clipped to his belt and raising it to fire at a thick stalactite hanging from the roof of the cavern. The hook bored into the rock and the boy flew through the fairly well-lit section of cave away from the two interested observers. Dick turned to Bruce and offered a small smile. "He seems to have the swinging down pat, so I'd like to start training him on the fine art of graceful falling."

"You mean how to react should the equipment fail?" Bruce asked.

"Equipment failure, slipping, getting knocked off, and so on." Dick shrugged. "It happens. I know I had a few close calls and I was a lot more comfortable with the aerials than Tim is."

"You were more comfortable with the aerials than anyone not having a Kryptonian birth certificate." Bruce replied, a hint of mirth in his voice. The mirth was short lived as the unmasked Batman grew serious again. "The boy's brilliant, eager, determined, resourceful, but he lacks your athletic ability."

"What are you talking about?" Dick asked. "Tim's a great athlete."

Bruce turned and peered intently at Dick. "Lose the modesty Dick, this is too important. Yes, he is a great athlete, but your raw, innate abilities were at an entirely different level, and I need to know if being at that different level is a requirement for the job or not. I can't afford to make another mistake. If lightning can strike twice, then we continue and maybe the boy will get the costume. If you were a fluke and the results can't be replicated, then we're all better off cutting our losses now."

"OK, I understand the importance, but I think the kid's got the chops." Dick replied. "And I have no intention of holding back on his training." Both men resumed their watch of the boy reaching the end of the stretch of cavern, turning and making his way back toward them. Dick slightly twisted and muttered something to Bruce. "By the way, could I construe that as a compliment?"

"Let's stay focused on Tim, shall we?" Bruce replied.

Dick chuckled. "Alright Bruce. But I would like to thank you for allowing me access to your equipment and weapons to equip my new suit. It was getting tough scraping together the necessary gear without your resources."

"I'm just happy you're changing suits." Bruce replied. "And for God's sake, feel free to put some armor over your chest. You're out there to fight criminals, not pick up disco queens."

Dick let out a loud laugh, one that carried through the cave. "Agreed. I've already got the design laid out."

"I shudder to think." Bruce mumbled. "Your previous outfits inspire little confidence. I've already decided to take some liberties with the Robin costume for Tim's benefit."

"Aw, do you have to take the fun out of everything?" Dick playfully whined, and smiled as he saw the edge of Bruce's mouth twist up ever so slightly. The goofy banter felt natural, fun, but both men seemed to realize at the same time the tension that had built between them over the last several years and quickly straightened up and became serious again. "So, hand to hand combat, how's the kid coming in that regard?"

"Very well." Bruce replied. "We've been spending the last two weeks going over Krav Maga. He's exceptional at finding options in situations that are designed to be option-free. A very clever lad."

"Wow, coming from you that's very, very high praise." Dick smirked. "I told you the kid has the chops. I don't think I need to ask if he's passing muster in the deductive reasoning and forensic sciences departments, do I?"

"Nope. As I told you, the child is brilliant." Bruce replied as Tim finally reached the ledge in front of them, clicked the grapnel to disengage and retract the hook, and walked before them panting. "But we still have a fair amount of work to do as far as conditioning goes."

Dick smiled and nodded. "Don't worry Timmy, the training will cure you of any insomnia that you may have."

Tim took a deep gulp of air before replying. "I'm not an insomniac."

Dick's smile broadened. "Well that's great. You're already one up on Bruce. But let's continue with the training. With you having to report back to mommy and daddy each evening by dinner, that means training time is very limited."

"Shouldn't be an issue next week." Tim answered. "Mom and Dad are taking a trip to the Caribbean. It's a business trip of course, but I get the impression that they're going to try and get a little personal time in there; try and patch things up between them."

"I hope it works out for them." Dick nodded. "Bruce and I will have to draw up a revised training regimen for next week; something to make the most of the increased number of hours we have to torture you."

Tim groaned at the thought of the increased physical pain he'd be going through.

---

Part 4: Custody Issues

December 12, 2004

Jason, now getting used to the name Jacob Allard, carried a large cardboard box through the front door of the small house he and his mother were temporarily renting in the suburbs of Seattle, careful to wipe his feet on one of the towels laid out to sop up the cold rainwater and mud and keep it from being tracked throughout their new, albeit temporary, home. "Seriously Mom, why couldn't I have fudged Jacob's age? Don't tell me that it wouldn't be easier if I could get a driver's license right away."

"Uh huh, and buy beer right away too, right?" Sheila, now Shauna Allard, replied sarcastically to her son as she followed him into the house with a newspaper tucked under her arm.

"I'd make myself seventeen, not twenty-one." Jason snapped back as he turned and brought the box into their living room.

"Look, we'll get you registered into school and set you up in driver's ed in time for you to get your license just a little after your sixteenth birthday, like every other kid in America." Sheila called out to her son as she started to make her way to the kitchen, but stopped as she thought of something and came back to poke her head into the living room. "Correction, every other kid in America except those in New Jersey, who have to wait until seventeen; and that includes Gotham!"

"Oh, I'd be driving already if I were in Gotham, believe that Mom." Jason smiled as he replied. "And I'm not talking about the Bentley, if you know what I mean."

"I guess you'd have gotten to know THAT car well enough by now." Sheila replied as she turned back to the kitchen and unfolded the newspaper. "You certainly familiarized yourself with its tires early on."

"It's official." Jason replied as he opened the box. "I regret telling you that story."

Sheila laughed as she headed down the hallway to the kitchen. "Hey, speak of the devil; guess who's on the front page of the paper?"

Jason twisted his head as he pulled a couple of items out of the box. "Who?" Intrigued by the comment and not hearing a response from his mother after several seconds, Jason put the items back in the box and started out of the room toward the kitchen. The teenager grew a little worried as he continued to be met by silence. "Hey Mom, are you alright?" Jason girded himself for action as there still was no answer. He peered into the kitchen slowly and cautiously, seeing his mother sitting on a chair and staring straight ahead toward a part of the kitchen Jason could not yet see, a look of terror etched in her face.

Jason braced himself as he entered the kitchen slowly and turned to see six masked men armed with automatic rifles standing around a seated Talia al Ghul. "Hello Jason."

"Uh, my name is Jacob." Jason replied, playing dumb even though he knew it to be a pointless endeavor. "Who are you and what are you doing in our kitchen?" He then gestured to the armed men, men who undoubtedly were trained to kill in hundreds of different ways if they were Talia's personal escort. "Look, take what you want, just don't hurt us."

"I have no interest in any of your possessions, and I certainly have no desire to hurt either of you." Talia commented as she stood up and walked over to Sheila, lifting the newspaper out of her hand and looking at the front page. "I believe this is what your mother was referring to." She lifted the paper so that Jason could see the headline. 'American Murdered By Voodoo Priest Laid To Rest', a picture of a very solemn looking Bruce and Dick standing on either side of a dark haired boy and a wheelchair-bound man, each of Jason's old family members having placed a hand on the boy's shoulder, was beneath the bold words. "Are you curious as to how Bruce and Richard know the Drake boy?"

Jason's stomach twisted at the sight of the younger teenager, one who wasn't as physically similar looking to Dick as he had been but who was more than close enough to pass as Robin to anyone outside their little circle, standing there next to Bruce. Had he been replaced? Already? Jason quickly forced himself away from these thoughts, knowing that this was exactly what Talia was trying to achieve. "Bruce, Dick?" Jason made a play of it and scrutinized the photo on the newspaper in the woman's hand. "Oh, Bruce Wayne. I don't know who the other guy is though. The guy in the chair is that Jack Drake guy, the one who was kidnapped by that Voodoo cult and whose wife was murdered. I assume that's their kid."

Talia looked to one of her guards and then nodded toward Sheila. The man aimed his rifle at the terrified woman. Talia then looked back at Jason, her eyebrow arched to let him know that the ball was in his court.

Jason nodded calmly. "Point the gun somewhere else."

"Of course." Talia replied and then nodded to her soldier, who lowered the weapon back toward the cheap kitchen laminates.

Jason reached forward to grab the newspaper, going out of his way to make his intentions clear. Neither Talia nor her guards saw the movements as threatening, and she smiled graciously as he took the periodical out of her hand and looked at the front page photo. "The Drakes were bigwig Gotham industrialists. They probably ran in the same circles as Bruce, and assuming that they were friendly acquaintances, it makes sense for Bruce to be at the funeral, especially given how high profile this story is." Jason peered back at the picture. His explanation made perfect sense, but he still knew there was more to the story here than just Bruce comforting a possible friend's bereaved son. His inability to ever remember meeting, seeing or even hearing the names Jack and Janet Drake come out of Bruce's mouth wasn't helping him dispel his suspicions either.

"That is a reasonable hypothesis, but one that is incorrect." Talia cheerfully answered him. "As you are now fully cognizant of, we keep tabs on Bruce's associates. And Bruce's association with the Drake boy Timothy was not through Timothy's parents, but through Richard. Routine surveillance of Richard's Manhattan apartment showed Timothy entering the building and leaving later with a somewhat confused looking Richard, all before what we believe to be Timothy's first visit to Wayne Manor." A broad smile came over the beautiful woman's face. "These instances took place in September, long before the kidnapping of the boy's parents in Haiti."

Jason hid his jealously very effectively, smiled and shrugged. "Let's say you're right. Am I supposed to be troubled by this?" The boy let out a chuckle. "I'm not you Talia, I have no problem with Bruce moving on."

"I am to believe that you are alright with him replacing you as his partner?" Talia posed, knowing that this development was likely tearing Jason up inside.

"Hell, he can replace me as his son for all I care." Jason lied.

Talia displayed an annoyed frown as she spat a response. "You are NOT his son."

"Well, I suppose you're right, what with me being legally dead." Jason replied. "But if I ever came out of hiding Bruce could have everything returned to normal in the blink of an eye."

"I am not referring to paperwork given a stamp of approval by indifferent and under-qualified civil servants." Talia clarified. "I am talking about a flesh and blood heir, a genetic continuation of your ancestral line, a child whose features are a tapestry of your own and those of your chosen mate. Believe me, Jason TODD, this natural and instinctive devotion to your own blood, a devotion that is far older than our species, is not the same as some random stray willing to take a greater man's last name in exchange for room and board."

"Bitch!" Jason snarled. "I loved Bruce and was devoted to him. He could have been living in a shack and I'd still be honored to call myself his son."

"And yet you deceive and abandon him to be with this criminal whore, who cast you away and into the arms of your degenerate, abusive, petty thug father, solely because she is of your own blood." Talia snapped back venomously. "I am sickened by your pathetic assertion regarding your devotion to Bruce. The statement would be true were Richard to make it, but coming from you it is a vile falsehood uttered solely to justify calling me a bitch, which I might add will be tolerated this one time, but will be met with extremely harsh punishment going forward!"

Jason forced another laugh. "I see, first you try to elicit jealousy by bringing up my replacement, now you're doing it by offering praise to my predecessor." The boy folded his arms. "It won't work this time either."

"Jealousy toward Richard was eating away at you long before my comment, street urchin." Talia growled. "He was smarter, a superior athlete, descended from poor but honorable lineage, and charming to the point of finding a place in the hearts of even his enemies. Oh, and to further differentiate him from you, he was both original and a success. And everything about him is genuine, including his feelings for Bruce, be they love or anger. Deception is hardwired into your genetics, I do not doubt that you think you love Bruce, but if the need arose, you would sell him out in the beat of a heart. Richard is not Bruce's son, and to his credit he has never presumed to be, but he will always be welcome in our home and seen as a brother to Bruce's true heirs. Unless drastic changes are made to every aspect of your personality, I will see to it that you never make it past the gate." The rage that had been welling up in Jason's face was slowly combined with amusement and confusion, something that Talia had expected. He didn't know, none of them knew; yet.

"Jason?" Sheila looked up at her son questioningly. "Who are these people?"

Jason continued staring at Talia. "This is Talia al Ghul, one of Batman's enemies."

"Enemy?" Talia touched her chest, feigning surprise and hurt. "How could you refer to me in such a way?"

Jason displayed an angry grin. "Your track record."

Talia lost her playful demeanor. "Enough of this! The two of you will be coming with us." She took a step toward Jason, causing him to step back into a defensive position, a slight awkwardness as he had to readjust the weight he put on his bad right leg. Talia looked down at the wobbly leg and raised her eyebrow. "And you, young man, will be taking a bath."

---

April 12, 2005

"Hey, Timbo!" Dick announced cheerfully into his cell phone as he was watching Roy Harper getting fitted for a tux.

"Is that Long-Pants?" Roy called out as the tailor walked away to jot down the red head's measurements.

Dick nodded as he made sure the tailor was well out of ear-shot. "How are you holding up? According to the news, Gotham is going to hell in a hand basket. Are you sure you guys don't need help?" Grayson's eyes widened and his skin went white as he listened to the reply. "My God. Is it permanent?"

"What is it Dick?" Roy asked, concerned by his friend's demeanor.

Dick remained focused on the other line. "Alright, you sit tight. I'm heading to the manor now." Dick was about to get up from his chair, but the response from Tim had him sit back down, a look of confusion, hurt and anger washing over his face. "What do you mean he doesn't want me there?"

Roy sat down next to Dick, confused and concerned. "Dude, what the hell is going on?"

Dick raised his hand to silence Roy as he continued. "Obviously everything's not under control, is it?" Dick listened some more. "What? Who the hell is Jean Paul?" Roy tapped Dick's arm and pointed to his pocket where he had his Titan's communicator. Dick shook his head to indicate to Roy not to contact their team. "Look, I don't understand! Let me talk to Alfred!" Dick paused and closed his eyes tightly. "No, no, don't interrupt him. Just…just have him call me once he's got Bruce…settled." Dick flipped his phone shut.

Roy turned to the returning tailor. "Hey, uh, we need to go for a walk. We'll be back in just a couple minutes." The archer then grabbed Dick by the elbow and helped him up from the chair and led him out of the haberdashery and into the thankfully vacant parking lot. "Alright, what the hell was that all about?"

Dick was still stunned. "Bruce. He's been hurt." Dick raised his eyes and met those of Roy's. "Hurt bad. His back was broken. He's paralyzed, they're not sure if it's permanent or not. It's not good."

"Shit." Roy attempted to absorb the idea of the invincible Batman being crippled. "How the hell did that happen?"

"Some new crime boss, a roided up and apparently very smart piece of garbage named Bane. Set about creating the chaos that's consumed Gotham recently, capitalized on the escaped Arkham inmates running Bruce ragged and then appeared in the cave after Bruce returned from like forty straight hours of action. Bruce was dead on his feet before the first punch was even thrown." Dick shook his head sadly. "The monster snapped his spine over his knee, monologue, took him downtown and tossed him off a building. Alfred's doing what he can to get Bruce stabilized now."

Roy shook his head empathetically. "Forgive me for eavesdropping, but did I hear that Bruce doesn't want you there?"

Dick's gaze once again fell to the ground. "Yeah, once again I've been written out of Bruce's life. Apparently he's already found another replacement for me; that Azrael guy who sprung up a few weeks back. Bruce was already trying to offset training that he had been receiving since before birth, if that's even possible, and now he's Batman's go-to guy." Dick stepped back, and lowered to sit down on the curb. "I thought that things had slowly been improving between Bruce and me. Our joint training of Tim had brought things back to how they used to be…to a small extent. He even joked about how he'd be willing to be my sponsor should I want to join the Brixton Country Club when he sprung my trust fund on me last month, and he never jokes." Dick just rubbed his head. "Damn him. I don't want him to get all paternal or anything, I recognize his limitations when it comes to the emotional stuff, but jeez, is it too much to ask not to be written off every couple of years?"

"Screw 'em!" Roy growled. "I had no problem returning the favor when Ollie wrote me off, and I actually gave him some really, really good reasons to write me off. You're like the perfect so…" both men shared a glance at the near usage of a word that held a near-taboo status for the two of them, "…kid. I mean, hell, you've been nothing but great at everything he's expected you to do. Well, except college, but really, what's the point? You have an IQ that's hovering around one-eighty, you're an expert at more than a dozen different disciplines, and after your recent windfall it's not like you'll really need a B.S. on your resume to make a decent living. So really, if he wants nothing to do with you, well it's his goddamn loss, so to hell with him!"

Dick shook his head. "Under any other circumstances I'd probably feel that way. But he needs me. Hell Roy, he's paralyzed. Paralyzed!" Dick looked up at his friend and teammate. "Babs is the strongest person I know, and though she hides it extremely well, being in that chair is killing her inside." Dick looked down. "If Bruce can't be Batman…I just don't know what he'll do."

"Batman doesn't take lives, not even his own, so go ahead and put that worry out of your head." Roy replied.

"I know that, I wasn't talking about actual suicide." Dick clarified. "I just mean a lifetime of self-loathing, feelings of uselessness and inadequacy. Bruce just running through the motions of his life until the clock finally runs out. As pissed as I am at the way he's pushed me away, I can't just stand back and let something like this happen."

Roy nodded. "Yeah, I get you. But you need to give him some space for now. Maybe he'll reach out to you when he comes around. And if he doesn't, well, you can insert yourself at a time when the wounds aren't so fresh. As for now, let's keep Captain Inseam in there waiting a bit longer and go grab a beer. I'm sure he'd be OK with waiting a little while, I mean, you are paying him fifteen grand for two tuxes."

"For the three millionth time, I don't drink." Dick replied.

"Uh, in case you've forgotten, you're legal now." Roy nudged Dick as he sat down next to him, doing his best to get Dick out of the dumps.

"Yeah, my age was never really a factor in that decision." Dick answered. "But I'll tell you what, how about we finish this fitting and I buy you a beer and an iced tea for myself? Will that do?"

Roy got off the ground. "Sure, but you should only have one iced tea. I've heard that too much caffeine can be bad for your ovaries." He offered his hand and helped his friend up.

"I'll let that comment slide if you do me the favor of not letting Robin know you were around for that phone call." Dick replied. "He's a bit prickly about people knowing anything about him, and I opened the conversation with his name."

"You'll need to buy me at least two beers for that, Mr. Moneybags." Roy negotiated. "Now let's get this measuring out of the way so I can talk you out of this wedding. I love Kory and all, but with your looks and newfound wealth, you owe it to yourself to play the field until you're at least forty."

"Not now Roy."

---

September 18, 2005

"You never wanted this, did you?" Dick looked up away from the cowl held in his hands to the man approaching him. Bruce stopped in front of the young man, his body healed by all measures in use by the medical community, but he was off. He was as strong as ever, his fast twitch muscles were honed and ready, but his instincts were a hair off of what they needed to be. He was in shape, but he wasn't combat ready. And the best and fastest way to get combat ready was through combat; combat arranged by the most dangerous woman in the world. Lady Shiva had agreed to get Bruce worthy of wearing the cowl again. Until then, it fell to the one man worthy of wearing it to salvage the Batman legacy.

Unfortunately, that lone worthy man had spent the last few years working to build his own identity, to prove himself able to stand on his own, to move outside the shadow of the Bat, to exert his independence. Nightwing was a viable hero, one respected by their peers and feared by their enemies. Dick Grayson had finally been successful in becoming his own man, but now had been pulled back into a destiny that he had convinced himself wasn't his. He looked back down at the black mask. "I don't know about that. I can't replace you, Bruce... but I'd be lying if I said it's not going to be wild standing in for you." Dick offered a pained smile. "Just make sure you don't take too long getting yourself back into fighting shape. I'd rather not have Batman be my full time gig."

"I'll do my best." Bruce offered a weak smile. Dick slid on the mask and started toward Robin, who was waiting for him next to the Batmobile. Bruce wanted to stop him. He wanted to tell him that he didn't need to do this. He wanted to apologize for missing the wedding; for not being there to help fight off Raven; to protect his…his son. He wanted to do a lot of things, things he couldn't do. But he knew that no matter what, Dick would come back. Bruce didn't deserve it, but Dick would always come back. Alfred? That was a different matter, a matter that would have to wait.

---

December 9, 2005

"Hey Bruce." Dick muttered as he walked into Bruce's study.

Bruce looked up from behind his desk. "Hello Dick, thanks for coming."

"No problem. I hope you didn't ask me here to take over as Batman again." Dick replied, an uneasy smile on his face. The comment was meant to be a joke, but he'd just gotten back into the swing of being Nightwing over the last two weeks, and had no desire to give it up again.

"No, I think I'll be remaining Batman for quite some time." Bruce replied.

"So why am I here?" Dick asked, a little suspicious. The relationship between the men was slowly rebuilding, but the request to stop by from Bruce sounded a lot more 'official' than a friendly offer for brunch.

Bruce opened a drawer and pulled out some paperwork, but Tim's arrival kept him from giving it to Dick. "Hey, Dick, I didn't know you'd be here." Tim cheerfully announced as he walked into the study.

"Hey Timmy, don't worry, Bruce swears that I'm not here to wear the ears." Dick replied as he turned and smiled at Tim. "So how's your dad liking his physical therapy?"

"Not nearly as much as he's liking his physical therapist." Tim came back. "Granted, I'm a little naïve to the ways of love, at least with the elderly," the Tim and Dick shot a humorous glance at Bruce, "but I'm pretty sure they've got the hots for one another."

"Tim, would you please head down to the cave and warm up?" Bruce asked. "I have a matter to discuss with Dick."

"Sure thing Boss." Tim answered, sending Dick a confused glance before going through the grandfather clock down to the caverns below.

"What's going on?" Dick asked skeptically. He was answered by Bruce handing him a manila envelope, the one he had pulled out just as Tim arrived. Dick opened it and slid out the documents. "So what have we...?" Dick's eyes widened as he looked over the adoption papers. "What the...?" Dick read them closely. "This can't be real."

"It is." Bruce replied.

"This is dated from 1996." Dick observed.

"I know. It's something I've wanted to do for some time, but, well." Bruce leaned back. "I'm not sure whether this is a case of better late than never, or too little, too late."

"Or putting a band aid on a gaping head wound." Dick muttered as he stared at Bruce dumbfounded. He suddenly realized with a start what a terrible thing he had just said. "Jeez, Bruce, I'm sorry. I don't know where that came from."

"Yes you do, and so do I." Bruce answered. "Don't worry about it, and definitely don't regret saying it. Whatever our status is after this meeting, it's time we were both more honest with one another, agreed?"

Dick nodded as he glanced back at the paperwork. "Agreed. So I need to be honest with you and let you know that I've been an adult for three and a half years."

"Yes, I vaguely remember Alfred mentioning the passing of your last four birthdays." Bruce quipped.

"Look Bruce, don't get me wrong, I recognize the significance of this." Dick explained. "I understand how huge something like this is for you. But I am a little curious as to...why?"

Bruce nodded. "I suppose I could tell you that it's to help clear any questions of your rights to any inheritance."

"I don't want your money, I never have. Hell, after what you and Lucius did to the money left over from my parents, I wouldn't know what to do with your money. I mean, I guess just toss it on the pile or something." Dick said lightly, recognizing Bruce's statement as a joke and doing what he could to add to it, despite feeling nothing jest-worthy on the matter. The young man placed the documents and envelope on the edge of the desk.

"I know that, and it's not why I'm doing this." Bruce defended.

"Then why?" Dick pressed. "A guy can get confused, you know? You unceremoniously hand me my pink slip, make your disapproval of Nightwing quite clear, and appear to sever ties as best you can, including keeping me in the dark about my br..., your son's death and funeral, keeping me at a distance after you're damn near killed, selecting some religious head-case as your successor; and now you want to adopt me?" Dick leaned back in his chair and shrugged. "And this better not be some sort of payment or feeling of obligation for me filling in for you the last few months."

Bruce's defense mechanism was starting to kick in, prompting him to reach forward and snatch away the documents, but he paused and realized that going through with this was worth swallowing his pride and giving Dick the apology he deserved. "Alright, how's this? When I took you in, it was supposed to be a temporary thing, an attempt to help a kindred spirit through an ordeal that I had some experience with. It also was a way to keep a material witness in a secure location. But the fact is that you grew on me; Alfred developed a bit of fondness for you as well." Bruce warmed at the small smile that the comment brought to the young man's face. "When the opportunity came to pass you on to another, more permanent home, I...well I couldn't bring myself to send you away. And it had nothing to do with you knowing of my nocturnal activities. I..." Bruce got up, frustrated not so much that he was having difficulty finding the right words, but that he was still meeting internal resistance to articulating his feelings for his prospective son. He turned and stared intently at Dick. "Look, you didn't want to replace your father, and quite frankly, I was too young to have an eleven year old son!"

"I know." Dick answered, but then shut up. He needed Bruce to work this out as much as Bruce could.

"I was twenty-seven, I was finally getting the whole Batman role perfected, the last thing I needed was the added interference of raising some adolescent. Even after you discovered who I was and the prospect of having to tiptoe around you to get to the cave was removed, it was still looking like more than I wanted to deal with. And when we came to the insane idea of having you assist me in the field, even then I figured you'd be an impediment more than an asset, like a young kid helping his Dad fix the sink with endless questions and other annoyances. Thankfully you proved me wrong in that regard." Bruce's defensiveness and agitation were on full display, but Dick remained calm. "But it wasn't part of my plan. YOU weren't part of my plan."

Bruce leaned against his bookcase and calmed a little. "You forced me to change the plan; to adopt a new plan. Looking back now, it's clear that the new plan was much better than the old one, but, I'd been laying the brickwork for the old plan for the better part of two decades by that point, so change wasn't all that welcome. Until it was welcome." Bruce raised his downward cast eyes and looked into Dick's. "And just as I was ready to embrace the changes as the blessings they were, I watched helplessly as Two-Face administered a beating that took you weeks to heal from physically, and...well, one that you're still working through psychologically. I nearly lost my son that day, so I fired my partner."

Bruce straightened himself, walked back to his chair and sat down. "Yes, I said it. I was no longer willing to have you take the risks of being my partner, but I was finally willing to accept the risks involved of having you be my son."

Dick looked down and nodded. "Nineteen ninety-six."

Bruce nodded as well. "I instructed Lucius to put that paperwork together, my intent being to present it to you when I returned from a mission involving Ras and Talia."

"What happened on that mission?" Dick asked. "You were never willing to discuss it, and I never looked up the mission file out of respect for your privacy."

Bruce smiled warmly at his former ward. Curiosity would have gotten the better of him were he in Dick's place. It would have gotten the better of Jason and Tim as well, but not Dick. Not that it would have mattered, as aside from a general description of Qayin, his agenda and the attack against him, Bruce had not logged the details of the mission. "I'll tell you some other time. But let's just say that something happened during those weeks away that changed me; that hardened me. The ground gained by Bruce Wayne was returned to the Batman with interest, and my renewed devotion to the cause prompted me to return to viewing you more as an asset than a son. I used your love for your father as an excuse to shelve the adoption paperwork."

Bruce looked away, out the window. "A return to the blessed status quo, I guess. I was no longer weakened by feelings of lo...emotional attachment. You were a student, a partner, a brother in arms. Yes, in moments of true honesty, I still viewed you as a son, but I successfully kept those moments to a subdued minimum. At least until that grinning bastard pulled the trigger. From the angle I was standing, it looked like a kill shot. Seeing the bullet pass out the back of your shoulder merely reminded me that our body armor had weak points, I didn't realize that the entrance wound was also your shoulder and not the center of your chest until after the likely possibility that my son had just been killed had entered my mind." Bruce looked at Dick with an earnestness that Dick had not seen before. "In that moment, everything changed forever."

Bruce once again stood and began pacing. "Once again, I was no longer willing to have you take the risks of being my partner, but I was finally willing to accept the risks involved of having you be my son. Of course, you'd developed a stubborn streak by then that made the prospect of stapling these adoption papers to your pink slip damn near impossible."

Both men chuckled. "In all fairness, I got the stubborn streak from you." Dick bantered.

Bruce nodded. "Things went from bad to worse as you just wouldn't take the hint and continued your costumed crime fighting, and to add insult to injury, you draw inspiration for your new identity from Kent. Kent!" The growled comment was half serious, half jest. "And in a bout of supreme arrogance, something that I've been known to have from time to time, I figured you'd eventually hang it up without my support. Again, you wouldn't take the damn hint."

Once again, both men chuckled, but Dick took a serious tone as he replied. "Just so that you know, I'm not going to be taking that hint anytime soon."

"I know that." Bruce replied. "I've finally come to terms with that. If fathers can come to terms with their sons being soldiers, cops, firefighters and so on, sons who don't even have a fiftieth the amount of training or natural ability that you do, then I'd best stop tossing up barricades and start supporting you." The two men smiled at one another.

Dick shifted a little uneasily. "So, what's involved with this adoption thing? Do I have to move back in, get a curfew, or what?"

"Nothing like that, smart ass." Bruce added. "Just stop acting like a visitor when you come here."

Dick looked down and nodded slowly. "Yeah, I think I might be able to manage that."

"Well then, I guess we should see if this is what you want." Bruce posed to Dick.

Dick looked up. "Wow, you'd think I'd have an answer at the ready after all this time."

Bruce shrugged. "Well, in all fairness, in a more normal world it would have ceased to be an issue the day you turned eighteen."

"Yeah, but then again, reading that you've adopted a kid a few months after said birthday does tend to dredge the subject back up into the forefront of a person's mind." Dick answered, trying hard not to convey any of the hurt and resentment the subject held with his voice.

Bruce nodded, relieved that the five hundred pound gorilla in the room had finally made its presence known. "Jason needed a father, a real father for once. Having him as a ward would have deprived him of something he was sorely lacking. You weren't missing this, so keeping you as a ward wasn't quite the disservice it would have been for Jason. So, I guess you could blame John."

"John?" Dick arched an eyebrow. "Dad?" The young man watched Bruce nod again before continuing. "Still using my love for my father as an excuse?"

"I did." Bruce answered. "But I won't again." Bruce watched Dick lean back and display a skeptical smile. "Fine Grayson, let's put all the cards on the table. I love you." Bruce saw Dick melt, and hated himself for not sharing this sentiment years ago. "You're my son. You've been my son since the day you walked into and brightened up this giant mausoleum. But I may not be worthy of being your father..."

"Worthy?" Dick interrupted.

"Yes Dick, worthy. I'm not John Grayson, and I know very well that he's the only one you'll ever consider your father." Bruce explained.

"No, Bruce." Dick paused for a moment before continuing. "Look, yeah, I was intent on not replacing Dad, but the fact is that I always considered you a father to me, just not Dad. I mean, it's a weird situation, and I'm not sure how best to explain it, but I really never saw considering you as a father as replacing my Dad. I have thought of you as my father of sorts since shortly after moving in here. At least until...well, water under the bridge I guess." The young man explained.

"Look, this is a lot to dump on you, especially given how rocky things have been between us for the last several years, so I'm going to insist that you take a few days to process this before you give an answer, one way or the other." Bruce commented.

"Alright, I think I can do that." Dick answered. "Oh, and I love you too." A weird, uncomfortable look came over both of their faces. "OK, it's been said and it was heartfelt. Let's not say it again."

"Agreed. Can we go down to the cave before we start crying now?" Bruce smiled.

Dick nodded, a grin etched on his face as the two men made their way to the clock. "So, does this mean I have to call you Dad?"

"No."

"How about Pop?"

"No."

"Pa?"

"Enough."

"Poppi?"

"You're grounded."

---

December 19, 2005

The man, garbed in a tight bodysuit, managed to bypass every security system throughout the estate as he made his way to Wayne Manor. The stealthy individual worked his way around the exterior of the mansion, finally reaching the window of the study, and attaching a small apparatus that would enable him to hear everything just inside, as well as see it through the tiny camera on the apparatus.

The intruder slunk down to a seated position, adjusted his earpiece inside his balaclava and pulled a small screen out of a pouch attached to his belt. On the screen he saw Bruce Wayne and Dick Grayson sitting on adjacent couches apparently having a pleasant conversation. "What can I say Son, you did an amazing job. A job only you're capable of handling for me. I'm even tempted to retire and leave the mantle entirely in your hands."

"Well thank you Dad." Dick replied as he casually raised his brandy snifter to his lips and took a sip. "I did learn from the best."

"Oh, it wasn't all my doing. Trust me on that." Bruce replied, giving his own snifter a gentle spin in his palm. "I've trained several young men, and only you have been fit to carry on for me, though Tim is showing real promise."

"Hmmm, yes, Tim is proving to be a fine addition to the team." Dick concurred. "You really should let me do all the recruiting; I've got a much better track record than you."

"Come on, I picked you, didn't I?" Bruce countered.

"Not really." Dick disagreed. "Yes, you took me in, but you had no intention of me joining your crusade. That came later. In fact, being your partner was more my idea than yours, so technically I should get credit for me." Dick grinned broadly. "So I get credit for Tim and myself, while you can claim Jason and Jean Paul." The younger man gave an exaggerated wince. "Ughn, Bruce, I hope you're not in any fantasy football pools, because you can't seem to draft talent worth a damn."

"I wish I could say you're wrong, but damn it, I find myself in an indefensible position." Bruce shrugged and accepted his punishment.

"Seriously, what the hell were you thinking with those losers?" Dick pressed. "I kind of get Jean Paul. I mean, Bane broke your back; you'd rather not have me share that fate, so why not throw some psycho with animal DNA at him? Whoever wins, it's one mentally unstable pseudo-meta off the streets. But with Jason, what were you thinking? Talk about a half-ass. At least Tim brings unique skills to the table to offset all the ways he falls short of being me. But Jason? He was stupid, weak, slow, hot headed and just not fit to carry my jock, much less wear my outfit. And you actually adopted that shit-bird before you adopted me."

"I know, and I'm sorry." Bruce apologized. "But my adoption of Jason was an act of charity; my adoption of you was a choice. The fact that it occurred long after you reached adulthood is a testament to my stubbornness, and to the fact that I genuinely wanted you to be my son." The older man then shrugged. "The only reason he was here in the first place was my pathetic attempt to replace you. And believe me, he was pathetic. The bastard child of a married bagman and some whore too stupid to recognize that the collegiate path she was on should elevate her enough not to have to deal with pieces of shit like that. Oh, and apparently too stupid not to be on the pill, something colleges give to female students for free."

The masked intruder raised his eyes away from the screen and stared straight ahead into the darkness with a look of outrage. He remained there, listening to more of the conversation going on inside, a conversation that was a continuation of Bruce praising Dick, to a lesser extent Tim, and throwing the occasional jab at Jason Todd, until finally he dismantled his surveillance equipment and made off as silently as he had arrived. The dark figure came upon the exterior wall and used his vast athleticism to scale it in the blink of an eye. He landed gracefully on the other side and sprinted through the quarter mile of thick forest before reaching a road. It was another quarter mile from where he had hidden his car, but he halted where he was at. Something was wrong. He could sense the presence of others.

A figure stepped out of the trees roughly forty feet ahead of him, a lithe, feminine figure, but one that exuded strength. "Hello Jason, did I not tell you that there was nothing for you here anymore? My beloved managed to work through his emotional barriers that had kept him from embracing Richard as, hmm, how shall I put this, as close to a son as another man's offspring can be, thereby rendering the distractive measure that you served no longer necessary. You no longer have a place in his life, but despite my initial disdain for you and your repeated transgressions against my father's hospitality, we have grown fond of you and recognized your true potential. There can be a symbiotic relationship between you and the League, if only you would leave yourself open to the possibility."

The young man pulled off his balaclava to reveal Jason Todd's face, his eyes blazing with confusion, hurt and rage. "Back off Talia!"

"I can not do that Jason." Talia responded. "I wish that I could. Despite my expectations, I have developed a great deal of respect for you, and feel that you are deserving of living your life as you wish, but the security and goals of the League are my priority, so I am afraid that you must return with me."

The angry teenager adopted a fighting stance and sneered at the woman. "I'm sure you have enough goons in the vicinity to Shanghai me back to the desert, but I'm going to make you really, really regret healing me and continuing my training." The young man was expecting dark figures to come at him from the shadows, and not the drug-tipped dart that was suddenly sticking in his thigh.

"Perhaps, but not tonight." Jason heard Talia retort as he fell to the ground, his eyes looking up into the moonlit sky. That image of the sky slowly faded to black.

-

The image of the dark, moonlit sky on the large screen slowly faded to black. Ras al Ghul reached forward and switched the monitor off. "Simplistic, but it will suffice. Authorize the second half of the payment to Tetch, and express to him our interest in future memory implants."

David Caine nodded. "He's going to insist on knowing the subject matter detail again."

"His fishing for the identity of who he suspects to be Batman and two of his Robins will not be tolerated further." Ras spat. "He managed to create an adequate template for this memory with minimal knowledge, if he wishes to receive another large payment, he will do so again. As before, I will provide him with the scenario, the emotional strings to be pulled, and any other blunt guides he needs. He is to leave the filling in of details to us."

"Understood." Caine replied before leaving Ras alone with Talia in the room, where behind the large view screen where they had viewed the implanted event was a window overlooking a room were the sedated Jason Todd was laying on a gurney. He would awaken in his quarters, left to believe that his escape, trip to Gotham, observation of Bruce and Dick's conversation, and recapture had all actually occurred.

Ras turned to his daughter. "You do realize that this is not what I had in mind."

Talia stepped forward and stood next to her father. "You instructed me to pit my Beloved's son against him. Is this not what I am doing?"

Ras leveled his gaze upon his daughter. "I suppose I can attribute the misunderstanding to the fact that at no point have you considered Jason Todd to be the Detective's son."

"Was Jason not legally adopted by Bruce Wayne?" Talia asked defensively. "I dare say that you would be unable to find a municipality on the planet that would not recognize Jason as the son of Bruce Wayne."

"My intent was clear. Hide your insubordination behind deceptive interpretations if you want, but do not waste my time with these absurd justifications." Ras growled before leaving, but paused as he got to the doorway. "Do not construe my agitation and disappointment as a desire for you to cease this course of action, however. Continue with Todd's re-education and training. Though not my original intention, having Grayson's replacement in our camp could prove extremely useful."


End file.
